


something in your smile (is so exciting)

by xancredible



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Casual Sex, Consensual Infidelity, Don't copy to another site, M/M, Modern Royalty, One Night Stands, Secret Identity, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-04-07 18:03:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19090264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xancredible/pseuds/xancredible
Summary: Zhenya isn’t exactly who Sid thinks he is, Sid is entirely who he’s supposed to be, and Sasha Radulov is the annoying yet supportive best friend we all deserve.





	something in your smile (is so exciting)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eyeslikeonyx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeslikeonyx/gifts).



> Please check the end of the story for more spoilery content warnings and clarification on tags. I recommend that you leave creator's style turned ON to read this as this story contains some text message formatting.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Thank you to foxy for helping me figure out Sid’s characterisation, as well as the question, what a Pens team would’ve looked like had they not drafted Evgeni Malkin, esp. with regards to their Cup chances. Double thanks for suggesting I look at Sinatra songs to find my title. It worked.
> 
> Thank you to kip for doing a banging job on betaing. This would not be nearly as good without their help.
> 
> Thank you to Mai for going over the dialogue between the Russians, and also their dialogue in English to make it more authentic. I owe you so much for always helping me out with these boys, and your gorgeous language in general <3\. Also: I learned a bunch of fun Russian idioms, most of which I couldn't even use in this story.
> 
> Thanks to jaimesiee for initial feedback, SPaG and cheerleading; and to starmorgs for initial brainstorming help. Another thank you to icedbatik on tumblr for providing me with a good reference for Sid’s Europe trip 2018.
> 
> * * *
> 
> onyx, I hope you'll enjoy this one. I know your specification was "no cheating", but your buddy on tumblr said that this use of it would be okay. Check the end notes on this fic for clarification so you know what to expect. If it's going to be a problem anyway, please get in touch with me!
> 
> For what it's worth, I'm sure I hit a whole lot of the rest of your requests, like angst, PWP, (budding) romance, (partial) non-hockey AUs, and modern royalty with secret princes. I hope all of that will make up for the _assumed_ infidelity.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Changed the date of publication to 22 June 2019, the day I was revealed as an author. The fic was originally unveiled on the 15th of June.

Sid wants to always feel like this.

The deafening roar of shouts from his team mates, each louder than the other, completely drowns out the boos and jeers of the Nashville home crowd. Sid’s smiling so hard, laughing so loud, his face will hurt in the morning and his voice will be hoarse. He doesn’t feel the chill from cooling sweat on the back of his neck, or the discomfort from being stuck in clammy, reeking gear for far too long.

All Sid can feel is the joy in his heart and all around him in his teammates, his coaches, his family. He wouldn’t be able to put this feeling into words if anyone asked him to describe it.

People do ask, of course. He’s Sidney Crosby and he just won the Stanley Cup for the third time in his career, the second time in a row. Of course people want to know how he feels.

The best he can come up with is “amazing” and “like our hard work paid off.”

It’s wholly inadequate. There’s nothing that can put this feeling into context or words, or could make anyone understand what it’s _like_. The only way to know, is to achieve it for themselves—and then do it twice more.

* * *

The celebrations are a blur. He’s drunk off champagne for at least 48 hours straight as people keep showering him in it, or he drinks it out of the Cup, nearly drowning in the gush.

Sid’s more sober during the party the night before the Cup parade. He’ll have to say some words to the reporters, and during the celebration on stage. He’d rather not be shitfaced for any of that. Not that it’s going to stop him from drinking, however, or enjoying himself.

They’re in his house tonight, but the celebration’s sprawling out into the backyard because the night’s so warm and there are just so many people here. 

Sid thinks he knows everyone, or at least knows who they arrived with. There’s team and staff members with spouses, and girlfriends, and boyfriends. Some of them even brought more friends.

Whatever. He’s buzzed enough not to worry about it.

His stomach grumbles and he decides it’s time to find some food. Someone was grilling earlier, and he knows he ordered pizza for the night—there are bound to be leftovers in the kitchen somewhere.

It takes him another half hour to actually reach his kitchen. People keep stopping him for backslaps and handshakes, until finally, food’s in sight.

The kitchen is significantly less crowded than the other rooms, though not empty. Dana and his wife are talking to Phil over by the breakfast nook, and Sid overhears Phil mentioning Stella, so he guesses they’re sharing their joy and experience of owning tiny dogs. Meanwhile, over by the pantry door, Jen is chatting with someone from arena maintenance, whose name Sid can’t quite remember right now.

At the island, Dumo is busy shifting pizza slices from box to box, and Sid watches him for a minute before he realises that, not only is Dumo making sure that all the leftover pizza is sorted into as few boxes as possible, he’s also organising them by dietary preferences.

Sid can’t help the fond smile. Dumo’s a good kid, and he’s been doing well on the Pens so far.

“Hey, buddy. Thanks for doing that, should’ve been my job as host,” Sid says, resting his forearms on the island.

“It’s no problem,” Dumo says, smiling brightly. “I like making sure everyone has easy access to good pizza.”

Sid snorts. “Fair enough. In fact, I’m gonna make use of it right now. Point me towards the meat options?”

Dumo gestures to a low stack of boxes, and Sid opens the first one to find a full pepperoni pizza inside. Perfect. He eats the first slice right out of the box, then peeks into another one to find meatball pizza. Dumo laughs a little at Sid’s excited “yeah!”, and then leaves him to it. Sid’s just contemplating trying a third box, when the door to the kitchen opens and Gonch enters with the friend he brought.

They’re talking in Russian, Gonch smiling while his friend tells him something. They’re nearly the same height, but Gonch’s friend somehow seems so much taller. His legs go on forever, for one thing.

They’d been introduced at the start of the night, but Sid can’t remember his name. It’s on the tip of his tongue, and he racks his brain for the memory of Gonch saying it. All he comes up with is seeing him sitting close to the glass, talking to Gonch during warm ups before one of the first games against the Preds, though. 

Then, earlier tonight, the friend had congratulated Sid on the Conn Smythe and praised the entire team, and Sid had immediately warmed to him.

Watching him now, Sid feels the shiver of attraction run through him. There’s something about him, like the crinkles around his eyes as he smiles, and the warmth in his voice while he chats with Gonch, that just does it for Sid. The long legs and big hands are another draw. Sid likes men who look like they can hold their own against him physically, and Gonch’s friend is at least a head taller than Sid, and his biceps is stretching the sleeve of his polo nicely. Sid’s eyes drop to the man’s ass, and he wonders what kind of sports Gonch’s friend does to have earned himself a butt like that.

‘Like Kuzy, but not Kuzy,’ Sid thinks, still trying to place the man’s name. He remembers thinking that when Gonch introduced him.

“Evgeni,” it comes to him suddenly, and he doesn’t mean to say it out loud. Gonch and Evgeni stand only a few feet away from the island, and so of course they hear Sid say the name.

“Yes?” Evgeni says, attention entirely on Sid now. That’s… not a bad feeling.

“How’s my pronunciation?” Sid asks for lack of anything better to say, and to hide the fact that he might be a little drunk and hadn’t meant to say anything at all.

Evgeni moves his hand in a so-so motion. “Have heard worse.”

Sid’s grin widens. “I bet.”

Evgeni huffs a laugh and turns back to Gonch to tell him they’ll catch each other later. Gonch claps him on the shoulder and leaves the kitchen again while Evgeni steps up to the island.

“You eating cold pizza?” Evgeni asks. His accent isn’t too noticeable, but not as indistinguishable as Gonch’s either.

“Uh, yeah,” Sid says, shrugging. “It’s not bad. I don’t like to warm it up. It always either turns mushy or too dry. Better just eat it cold, eh?”

“You have thought about this a lot,” Evgeni says, or maybe asks. Sid isn’t entirely sure, so he shrugs.

“Just figured out what I like and what I don’t, I guess.” He licks his lips, and looks at Evgeni.

There’s a glint in Evgeni’s eyes that tells Sid that he understood perfectly what Sid isn’t saying.

“It’s good to know what you like,” he agrees. “I know what I like, too.”

Evgeni doesn’t lick his lips, or wink—thank God—but he does give Sid an obvious once-over.

Yeah, looks like they’re on the same page, then.

Sid’s pretty sure that no one else in the kitchen is paying them much attention, but he’s still not keen on Dana, and Jen, and people he knows second hand hearing him invite someone back to his bedroom.

He digs into the third box of pizza instead, only to find ham and pineapple pizza in it. He makes a face and closes the box again, accompanied by Evgeni’s amused giggle.

“Like I said, I know what I like,” Sid says, maybe a bit too meaningfully, and grabs another slice of the meatball pizza. He makes himself walk out of the kitchen through the back door with only one more suggestive look at Evgeni. The exit leads straight to the staircase at the back of the house. He leans against the banister, and finishes his food.

He’s just taken the last bite, when Evgeni exits the kitchen through the same door, and heads straight toward him.

“Hey,” Sid says, burying his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“Hey,” Evgeni answers, watching Sid with a smile.

“So, you wanna see the rest of the house?” Sid asks.

Evgeni shrugs. “Sure. Show me.”

He leads him up the stairs, away from the crowd, the noise from downstairs still audible but muted. He never outright tells anyone to stay away from certain areas, but his guests have always respected that parties at his house happen on the ground floor, the basement, and in the backyard. Everything else is off-limits except by explicit invitation, or for people like Tanger and Flower.

“Sidney Crosby has hockey paintings everywhere.”

Sid turns around to see that Evgeni has stopped in front of a painting of Sid during his rookie year. It’s true that Sid likes to commission art of his team, and of himself achieving goals or simply enjoying the game. 

He shrugs. “It’s my passion, and I’m proud of what I’ve achieved. Why shouldn’t I have visible reminders?” He grins. “Besides. It’s art. Can’t fault a man for wanting some culture in his home.”

Evgeni snorts a laugh. “Should see my parents’ home. Russian landscapes everywhere.”

“Are they nice?” Sid asks earnestly. He’s walked the few steps back to stand beside Evgeni.

“Yes,” Evgeni says, voice a little wistful. “Very nice. Many forests.”

Sid smiles. “Sounds lovely.”

He bumps his shoulder against Evgeni’s arm. “Come on, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

Evgeni turns his head to look at Sid. “What else are you going to show me? Paintings of Gretzky?”

Sid chuckles. “No. Something better.”

He walks down the hall, and opens the door to his bedroom. “In here.”

Evgeni takes his time, stepping slowly enough so he can really look at the rest of the pictures lining Sid’s hallway. He stops for just a few seconds in front of the one of Taylor in her goalie gear as she defends the net, but then turns his eyes on Sid and joins him in just a few moments.

“Go on, then,” Sid says, unable to stop from smiling. Evgeni raises his eyebrows, and then that smirt comes back and yeah, Sid likes the cockiness of it.

Evgeni steps inside, making sure to brush past Sid, instead of just stepping inside. And Sid follows, of course. He leans inside the doorframe, watches Evgeni take in the room, the large bed in the middle with the blue sheets. Sid didn’t really expect to hook up tonight, but he made his bed out of habit, even when still half-drunk this morning. Some things from years spent with billet families, and in boarding school are just so ingrained he’ll probably never shake them. He’s glad for it now.

“I’d really like to close this door, kiss you, get naked, and touch you until you come,” Sid says into the quiet.

“Good game plan, Captain,” Evgeni says, and even though it makes Sid roll his eyes, he closes the door, locks it just to be on the safe side, and then looks to Evgeni for confirmation that it was okay.

Evgeni shrugs, so Sid steps closer, pulling his t-shirt off over his head, taking his ball cap with it.

“Finally,” Evgeni says. “Thought you never take that off. Sidney Crosby, always wearing cap or terrible hair gel.”

“The gel isn’t terrible,” Sid protests. “It’s professional.”

“It’s terrible,” Evgeni insists. “All the fans want to see your hair be free but you hide it under a hat, or torture it with gel.”

“Well, maybe they should care less about the way I look and more about the way I play hockey,” Sid says deliberately flatly, unwilling to be annoyed about it tonight.

“Sure, sure,” Evgeni soothes. “I care about both. Let’s not get distracted by hair. We have other goals, yes?”

“For sure,” Sid confirms, and tugs on Evgeni’s shirt. “Like getting you out of this.”

Evgeni—endearingly—waggles his eyebrows, and then pulls off the polo shirt he’s been wearing. His hair’s standing up in all directions afterwards. Sid thinks it looks cute, and he finds himself smiling.

“I think you should kiss me,” Sid announces, and Evgeni does.

There’s a hand cradling the back of Sid’s head, and another one pulling him closer by the waist. Evgeni doesn’t start chaste. He licks at Sid’s lips right away, mouth already open, and Sid’s arousal, which has been on the backburner all this time, flares to life at the first touch of skin on skin.

Evgeni’s hand is broad and warm on Sid’s waist, and Sid wraps both arms around Evgeni to pull him closer. Evgeni’s hand drops to Sid’s ass, and squeezes. Sid’s fully on board with that.

“I really wanna fuck you,” he says between kisses, as his fingers dig into Evgeni’s back.

“Yes,” Evgeni agrees enthusiastically, squeezing Sid’s ass some more, and Sid’s more than happy to let that go on for a few more minutes until his neck’s starting to ache. As much as he likes that Evgeni’s taller than him, maybe they should relocate to the bed.

Sid grins as he pulls back slowly. “Get naked, and then get on the bed.”

Evgeni mumbles “Bossy Captain,” but does as he’s told, smirking at Sid the entire time as he takes off his pants and boxers.

Half hard, Sid takes a couple of moments to appreciate how nice Evgeni looks on his bed. His long legs are stretched out and parted, one knee bent. He’s stroking himself lightly, clearly putting on a display for Sid, who’s only too happy to watch him for a short while. His eyes land back on Evgeni’s big hands, the way one of them looks wrapped around Evgeni’s dick. Sid can imagine only too well how it’d feel on his own erection. He bets Evgeni’s got a nice, firm grip. He’d make it so good for Sid.

“There’s condoms and lube in the bedside drawer to your left,” Sid tells him. “Get them.”

Evgeni waits another few beats, finishing a languid upstroke on his cock, then leans over and opens the drawer.

Sid climbs out of the rest of his clothes, and kneels on the bed, letting Evgeni look his fill in return.

“You’re bigger than I thought,” Evgeni says, sounding pleased but not worried.

“Some say it’s so I won’t fall over from the size of my ass,” Sid chirps himself, only to hear Evgeni laugh.

“Your legs are too strong for that,” Evgeni says, smirking at Sid. “Built like a tank.”

Sid grins back. “Gotta stay on my feet on the ice, eh?”

Evgeni nods, and hands Sid the condoms, before opening the lube and coating his own fingers. He turns onto his front, getting onto his knees, and reaches back to rub lube into his crack.

This view is even hotter. Sid’s been appreciative of Evgeni’s ass when it was fully clothed, but naked and on display for him like this? It’s a wonder Sid’s able to stop himself from immediately groping it.

A moment later, he realises that he’s allowed to grope, so he reaches out and runs his hand over the curve of it. He digs his fingertips into it on his third stroke, and then gets his other hand on the other cheek, to spread them apart.

Evgeni’s moaning quietly, deliberately slowing down his fingers to make it look all the more obscene.

Sid watches appreciatively for a while, but then decides that even more than just looking at Evgeni’s ass, he wants to be inside it, so he lets go to put on the condom. He grabs the lube from where Evgeni dropped the bottle onto the bed, and gets himself ready, never taking his eyes off of Evgeni.

Shuffling forward on his knees, Sid moves in close behind him, and leans forward to mouth at his shoulder. His dick’s nestled into Evgeni’s crack, and with every move of Evgeni’s fingers, his knuckles rub against the underside of Sid’s dick. It’s incredibly good just like this, but Sid wants more.

“You ready soon?” he asks, pressing kisses into Evgeni’s skin.

“Born ready,” Evgeni says a little breathlessly.

Sid grins. “Then maybe take your hand away, if you want me to fuck you.”

Evgeni huffs in fake annoyance. He pulls his hand away from his ass, though.

“Like this?” Sid asks, moving his hips a little to rub his dick where Evgeni’s fingers have been.

“Yes,” Evgeni gasps, and lets himself fall forward onto his elbows.

Sid moans at the sight before him. Evgeni’s back is smooth and unblemished, and Sid wants to put his tongue on the dimples above Evgeni’s ass.

Maybe he’ll get around to it later. Right now he’s got other priorities.

He takes his time pushing inside Evgeni, savouring the slow give as he slides into another person’s body, the intimacy of it. It’s not like Sid’s sex-deprived but it’s been a long playoff run and he hasn’t done _this_ since the regular season ended.

“You good?” he rasps once he’s settled, grinding his hips minutely just to hear Evgeni gasp.

“Great,” Evgeni replies. “Be better if you move.” He accentuates this demand by pushing his hips back against Sid, making both of them moan.

“Who’s the bossy one now,” Sid says, squeezing Evgeni’s hips.

He likes it, honestly. Likes that Evgeni isn’t meek, doesn’t appear to be intimidated by Sid in any way. It makes all of this more fun when Sid doesn’t have to worry that someone’s more into the idea of getting fucked by _Sidney Crosby_ rather than having fun with Sid.

Evgeni pushes back again, and groans when he meets resistance. Sid’s an unmovable force if he wants to be, and teasing more pleasure out of his partner is definitely sufficient motivation.

“Come on,” Evgeni finally bites out. “Fuck me.”

Sid grins, and gets to work.

He builds his rhythm slowly, pulling out and pushing back in in languid, controlled movements, speeding up only the slightest bit every couple of strokes.

The sounds coming from Evgeni are somewhere between frustration and desperation, and they only increase Sid’s desire to make this last just that much longer, make Evgeni—and himself—truly work for that orgasm.

“Go harder,” Evgeni demands breathlessly only a few minutes in when Sid’s still taking his sweet time. “You can fuck me better than that.”

Sid bends down over Evgeni’s back, licks between his shoulder blades. He’s so tall, and Sid loves that. Maybe they’ll have time for a second round, and he’ll be able to get those legs wrapped around his waist and watch Evgeni’s face while he fucks him.

“What would be better?” Sid murmurs against Evgeni’s skin

“Harder,” Evgeni repeats, voice sounding shaky from this up close.

“Harder isn’t necessarily better,” Sid argues, smiling against Evgeni’s skin.

“I _like_ harder,” Evgeni insists, and turns his head to look at Sid out of the corner of his eye.

Sid watches him for a moment, then bites the back of his shoulder, and straightens back up.

“If that’s how it is, you can have it harder.” Maybe during that second round, Sid can take his time. He’d really like to. Evgeni’s responsive, and Sid wants to see what happens if he drags it out for as long as possible.

For now, he pulls out and slams back in.

Evgeni sounds as if the breath was punched from his lungs, and then he groans and lets his head drop to the mattress, raising his ass higher. He can hear Evgeni gasp “da, da, da,” over the sound of their skin slapping together. 

It doesn’t take too long before Evgeni reaches for his dick to stroke himself in quick, jerky movements. Sid speeds up his rhythm, slamming as hard and deep into Evgeni as he possibly can.

A loud, wailing moan tears out of Evgeni, and Sid can feel him tense, then relax when his orgasm hits him. Sid fucks him through it, slowing down bit by bit until he pulls out on the last shudder of aftershocks running through Evgeni.

Evgeni lets himself fall to the side and rolls onto his back, still breathing heavily. Sid reaches for his own dick, strips off the condom to get himself off. Evgeni’s cheeks and chest are splotchy with colour, his hair damp and plastered to his forehead, his mouth’s hanging open while he tries to catch his breath. He looks well and truly fucked. The sight’s such a turn-on that it gets Sid off in record time.

Sid sits back on his heels once his orgasm has faded, and he grins at Evgeni, who’s watching him right back.

“This was pretty good,” Sid pants, watching as Evgeni’s grin turns lascivious.

“Can you go again?” Evgeni asks, sitting up slowly.

“Probably,” Sid says. “In about twenty minutes, maybe?”

“Sound good. Then you’ll suck me, and I’ll let you fuck me again,” Evgeni declares, grinning smugly.

Sid nods. “For sure, Evgeni.”

“Call me Zhenya,” Evgeni says, and reaches for Sid’s face. Sid lets him pull him into a slow, dirty kiss.

“Shennya,” he tries, but Evgeni wrinkles his nose in disgust, so Sid knows he got the pronunciation wrong.

“Zhenya,” Evgeni repeats slowly. “Zhen-ya.”

Sid tries and tries, and by the time his lips are kissed raw, and his dick’s showing interest again, he finally gets it right.

* * *

The next morning, Sid sends him off with a proper breakfast while the cleaning service is already working on putting Sid’s house back to rights.

“Are you off back to Russia?” Sid asks over oatmeal and toast.

“No, I’m staying a while.” Zhenya shrugs. “Probably all summer. It’s my first time in America, I want to see some places.”

“For sure,” Sid agrees. “Let me know if you end up in Canada at all. I’m not a great tour guide, but I know my way around most of the major cities by now. And Nova Scotia, of course.”

Zhenya beams. “Sounds good. You should give me your number so we can coordinate.”

Sid grins in return. “That sounds sensible.”

Later, as they’re saying goodbye, once Sid has written down his number for Zhenya, Sid leans in for a last kiss, and a hug.

“I wouldn’t mind repeating this if we meet again,” he tells Zhenya once they’ve pulled apart again.

“Summer fling with Sidney Crosby?” Zhenya smirks. “Sounds good to me.”

And this time he does wink as he walks away. Sid really shouldn’t find it as cute as he does. 

* * *

Zhenya continues his vacation, and Sid goes back home to Nova Scotia after the parade and once all his captainly responsibilities have been taken care of for the summer. Zhenya occasionally sends Sid pictures from the cities he’s visiting. By the looks of it, he’s making the most of his summer and is travelling to as many parts of the States as he can. Sid usually replies with a snapshot of his deck, the backyard of his parents, or the rink where he’s coaching at hockey school in July.

Sid wouldn’t say that they’re friends yet. Not like he and Nate are friends. They never talk about anything, only send pictures back and forth, and Sid’s happy with that.

Occasionally, Sid receives a dick pic or a shot of Zhenya’s ass, which are definitely appreciated, and underline the nature of their acquaintance. Sid doesn’t reciprocate though. Zhenya’s fun, and sexy, for sure. They’ve got mutual friends, and more importantly, they’ve got chemistry.

However, Sid doesn’t really know Zhenya yet. They hooked up once, and send each other snapshots of what they’re doing every once in a while. That’s not enough for Sid to trust that pictures of his ass wouldn’t turn up somewhere on the internet.

Zhenya  
  
when I come to halifax, will you let me blow you?  
  


Zhenya texts at the end of July. Hockey school’s already over, and he and Nate have started their summer training, but Sid can make time for Zhenya when he visits. There’s nothing else he’s doing for the rest of the summer, except work out, and relax. Zhenya picked the perfect time for a visit.

Zhenya  
  
when I come to halifax, will you let me blow you?  
  
I’d like nothing better. When?  
  
)))))middle of august i’ll send flight details.  
  
If you need help picking a hotel, I can ask around to see which one’s good.  
  
thanks. i’ll be fine  
  
For sure. See you when you get here.  
  


* * *

Zhenya arrives a week after Sid’s birthday. Sid’s already got his plate full with his workout, and afterwards he hangs out with Nate all through lunch, like he always does. Even if Zehnya had asked, Sid wouldn’t have had the chance to pick him up from the airport. Zhenya doesn’t even text Sid until late afternoon, though, at which point Sid had almost forgotten that Zhenya’s coming in today.

Zhenya  
  
just checked in. come over? (Aubergine ≊ Eggplant)  
  
Where are you staying??  
  
atlantica, room 117))))  
  
Looking forward to it. See you in an hour.  
  


* * *

Sid had made a token effort to put on something other than basketball shorts and a hoodie. He’d picked out jeans and a fresh button-up shirt, and even styled his hair so he could go without the hat. He figures that they might go out for dinner, and since there’s no telling where Zhenya wants to go, Sid doesn’t want to risk it with his usual athleisure wear.

He shouldn’t have worried. As it turns out, Zhenya just wants to grab burgers at whatever place Sid thinks is good, and if it weren’t for Zhenya being dressed in slacks and a dress shirt himself, Sid might’ve felt a tad overdressed.

Zhenya’s telling Sid more about his holiday, sometimes repeating things Sid already heard through text, and Sid tells Zhenya about hockey school, and fishing, and hanging out with Nate.

It’s easy, and relaxed. The food’s good, no one’s asked him for an autograph yet, and Sid’s been focused on the way Zhenya’s enormous hands look wrapped around the neck of the beer bottle for the last two minutes.

“Let’s go back,” Zhenya says when he finally catches on to what Sid suspects was a completely unsubtle stare on his part. However, Sid’s not going to protest out of humiliation or politeness.

“For sure,” Sid agrees with an easy grin.

* * *

It’s a short walk back to the hotel, and then they’re in Zhenya’s room, and Sid’s got Zhenya pinned to the wall, kissing him, deep and sloppy.

“I want your mouth and hand on my dick,” Sid says against Zhenya’s lips. “How’s that sound to you?”

“Sound good,” Zhenya agrees, and Sid grips Zhenya’s hips tighter, pushing him harder into the wall as he licks into his mouth and grinds his erection against Zhenya’s thigh.

Fuck, Zhenya’s so tall, and Sid’s got him right where he wants him.

“Sid,” Zhenya groans, grabbing at Sid’s waist. “Need to let go so I can suck your dick.”

“Right. Fuck. Okay.” Sid lets go of Zhenya, and takes two steps back, ready to turn towards the bed, but then Zhenya drops to his knees right there in the middle of the room.

A new wave of arousal washes over Sid, and he’s fantasised about this, but he wouldn’t have asked for it.

Now that Zhenya’s offering, though—

“Shit, that’s good,” Sid says appreciatively, and takes the half step back towards Zhenya, close enough to reach for his face and cup his cheek. “This how you want to do it?”

“Yes,” Zhenya says emphatically, and alright, Sid’s totally on board with that.

“Okay,” Sid says, and rubs his thumb over Zhenya’s plump lower lip. Zhenya’s mouth drops open and Sid tips his thumb inside, letting Zhenya flick the tip of his tongue against it.

He doesn’t have to tell Zhenya anything else before Zhenya’s reaching up to unbuckle Sid’s belt and open his trousers. It’s the hottest fucking thing, watching Zhenya’s face, feeling his hands work on Sid’s jeans, and knowing that soon he’s going to have Zhenya’s mouth where Sid’s thumb is right now.

“Condom,” Sid remembers, and Zhenya makes a protesting sound in the back of his throat, but Sid’s not budging on that. “In my pocket,” Sid says, and pulls it out of his front pocket with his free hand.

When Zhenya pulls Sid’s jeans and boxers down, Sid’s dick catches on his underwear. It makes him hiss, but Zhenya’s hand wraps around it a second later, and _that_ is not bad at all.

Sid has to let go of Zhenya’s face to open the condom and roll it on, but it’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make just to get Zhenya’s mouth on his dick instead. Unfortunately, Zhenya’s being the least helpful by pushing his face right against the base of Sid’s dick, and flicking his tongue out to lick at his balls.

“Shit,” Sid curses, and nearly lets the damn condom fall to the floor. He catches it in the last second, though, and breathes a sigh of relief. He gets a hand in Zhenya’s hair and gently tugs him away. “Hold on,” he says. “Just let me get this on and then you can go to town.”

Zhenya has the gall to smirk up at him. Fuck, Sid _likes_ how cheeky he is.

Sid lets go of Zhenya’s hair, watching him like a hawk, and finally gets the condom on.

“There,” he says, taking his hands away. “All yours.”

For a second it looks like Zhenya’s going to faceplant right back into Sid’s crotch, but instead he reaches out and wraps his hand around Sid’s dick. It looks and feels about as spectacular as Sid had expected. Zhenya’s hand is big and warm and feels so good wrapped around him.

Zhenya’s stroking him only loosely, the condom not slick enough to make it easy. It doesn’t matter though, because Zhenya finally leans back in and buries his nose at the base of Sid’s dick again.

The sight is beyond erotic. Sid had no idea he’d have such a thing for seeing his dick right next to someone’s face, but he’s more than willing to accept this revelation about himself.

Slowly, Sid realises what Zhenya’s doing. Sid couldn’t feel it at first because he doesn’t bother trimming his pubic hair, so the sensation got lost, but Zhenya’s pressing little kisses into his skin, slowly moving towards Sid’s dick.

It feels a lot like being worshipped, and fuck if that doesn’t ratchet the hotness factor up by about a hundred percent.

“Zhenya,” Sid groans. “Come on already,” he says when Zhenya’s only about halfway up to the tip of Sid’s dick. It looks like he’s determined to get as straight and detailed a line of kisses as he can, only ever moving a few millimeters to place the next one.

Zhenya raises his mouth, pushing his thumb over the spot he kisses last, marking where he left off.

“Thought you like taking your time,” Zhenya says, an impish glint in his eyes.

Sid laughs, sudden and loud. “Should’ve known you’d be paying me back for that.”

“Pay back?” Zhenya asks innocently. “Not paying back. Only doing what you like.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sid says, still grinning, and shaking his head fondly. “You got me. I like taking my time, but how about you suck my dick now, and you can take your time with it when it’s not going to ruin your knees.”

“Aw, Sid,” Zhenya says sweetly. “So considerate. Best lover.”

Sid snorts. “Whatever.”

Zhenya shrugs, and leans in again, this time to lick along Sid’s length. It feels good, and it’s a nice shock of sensation after the barely-there kisses from before. It only gets better when Zhenya finally wraps his lips around the head, and goes down as far as he’s able, covering the rest with his hand. 

This is what Sid had been picturing all this time, and reality does not disappoint the slightest bit. Zhenya’s mouth looks obscene in the way it stretches around Sid, and his hand is big enough to wrap all the way around, holding him firmly and tightly.

It’s so good, and it only gets better when Zhenya drags his mouth back up, followed by his hand. It’s hot, and tight, and Zhenya’s sucking hard enough to be just about on the pleasurable side of _too_ hard.

Sid can’t look away. It’s almost like a weird kind of feedback loop he’s creating for himself. Watching Zhenya turns him on, and the sensation of Zhenya’s mouth and hand on him enforces the arousal, feeding back into the need to keep watching Zhenya doing this to him.

If he’d be able to devote more brain power to thinking about anything that wasn’t the feeling of tight, wet heat around his dick Sid would’ve started worrying about Zhenya’s jaw aching long before Zhenya actually pulls off with a regretful little look on his face. As it is, Sid barely has time to emerge from his daze before Zhenya’s hand takes over stroking him, and Zhenya’s mouth is back on Sid’s balls.

Sid groans, and can’t help but fist a hand into Zhenya’s hair. He’s been good about keeping his hands to his sides, or just on Zhenya’s shoulders, but fuck it, this feels amazing, and he needs _more_. He’ll apologise later for pushing Zhenya’s face harder against his balls, for rocking his hips to thrust into Zhenya’s fist.

When Sid comes, it’s with a deep groan, letting go of Zhenya just before he grips Zhenya’s hair too hard, and knees locking to keep him upright.

“Maybe condom not such a bad idea,” Zhenya muses as he sits back on his heels. His hand’s moving gently back and forth on Sid’s dick until Sid nudges it away.

“Told you,” Sid says. To be fair, keeping his jizz out of Zhenya’s hair had not been a priority when he’d put on the condom, but it’s a useful bonus.

Sid rids himself of the condom, and steps out of his trousers. He nearly forgot that he’s still wearing shoes but manages to take them off without falling over, or embarrassing himself too much.

He kneels on the bed to pull off his shirt, fully aware what he looks like like this. The effect isn’t lost on Zhenya either, who doesn’t exactly scramble to take off his clothes, but also doesn’t bother hiding how excited he is.

Sid pulls him close once Zhenya’s on the bed with him, then wedges a thigh between Zhenya’s legs.

They kiss again, Zhenya a little more desperately than before, and Sid’s happy to indulge him. He’s got his hands on Zhenya’s ass, squeezing it, and encouraging him to rock his hips—to rub his dick against Sid’s thigh until he comes all over them.

Fuck, just thinking about it makes Sid want to get hard again. It’s not gonna happen anytime soon, but Zhenya actually goes with Sid’s silent direction, and that’s about as hot as having Zhenya on his knees just minutes ago.

Zhenya’s back to making those needy little noises in the back of his throat as he rides Sid’s thigh, and Sid can’t help but be endeared by them.

“That’s it,” he soothes. “Take what you need from me. I want you to come all over me.”

A choked-off moan escapes Zhenya, but it’s still not enough for him to come, it seems. Sid takes a hand off of his ass, licks it, and then pushes it down on Zhenya’s dick, trapping it against Sid’s thigh. Between Sid’s hand, and how much Zhenya’s been leaking, the slide is easy, and Zhenya pumps his hips harder for just a few moments until he comes with a deep groan, making as big a mess as Sid had expected, spilling all over his thigh and hand, spurting almost all the way up to Sid’s stomach.

“There you go,” Sid praises Zhenya, and leans forward to kiss him again.

If tonight’s any indication, the next few days are going to be awesome.

* * *

They meet up every afternoon for a week. Sid’s busy with his workouts in the morning, and he’s not going to compromise on his time with Nate either. Zhenya doesn’t seem to mind, and even takes the opportunity to go to the Sports Hall of Fame in Halifax to laugh at Sid’s dryer, or do shopping that Sid isn’t interested in.

When they meet up, they tend to go fishing or boating, or just stay in to have more sex. It’s overall a pretty relaxed arrangement, and Sid likes it that way.

Zhenya gets himself hooked on Beaver Tails, and then waxes poetic about Alyonka chocolate until Sid tries some and admits that yes, it’s pretty good, but not as good as Reese’s cups.

One morning, Zhenya joins Sid and Nate at the local rink for a bit of skating. Sid’s reluctant at first. He and Nate go to the rink to train and not for fun—most of the time. Zhenya assures him though that he’ll be fine on skates, that he even plays hockey at home.

“Won’t be in your way,” he promises, and Sid—after asking Nate if it’s alright—relents.

In the end, both he and Nate are impressed by how fast Zhenya is, and how well he shoots the puck.

“You weren’t kidding about playing,” Sid says. He knows his excitement is written all over his face, but it’s so rare that people who aren’t professional skaters manage to keep up with him.

“Did you ever think about going pro when you were growing up?” Nate asks as he comes to a stop next to Sid once he’s completed his own set of drills.

“Yes,” Zhenya says. “But couldn’t. Other things were more important, you know?”

Sid doesn’t ask more about why Zhenya couldn’t go pro. It’s none of his business, and he can imagine only too well what reasons there could’ve been. Plenty of young, talented players never make it to a professional level because their parents couldn’t afford the necessary coaching lessons. Sometimes it was an injury that left them able to play, sure, but not at the high level that was necessary for a professional league.

So Sid does and doesn’t know, really. To him, his family and hockey have always been the most important things, but who knows where he’d be if things hadn’t gone his way. He doesn’t like to dwell on it, even if it’s just a hypothetical, so he doubts Zhenya’s eager to share what had happened.

“For sure,” Sid says instead, before the silence stretches on too long. “Let’s see if you can keep up with this drill, too.”

If Sid and Nate end up testing Zhenya much more on his level of skill than doing drills themselves… well, it’s just one morning out of many. It’ll be okay.

* * *

On Zhenya’s last night, Sid rides Zhenya into the mattress, and then stays the night so they can indulge in an early-morning quickie before Zhenya has to head off to the airport. He’s flying directly back to Russia from Halifax—or as directly as is possible when you have at least two layovers.

Sid skips his morning run with Nate just this once, and after finally getting his wish to go as slowly as he likes, last night, Sid concludes that he already did his cardio workout anyway.

It’s been a good week, and spending time with Zhenya has been as fun as it had been easy. He’s actually going to miss him now that he got to know him more.

Zhenya’s cheeky sense of humour comes out not just during sex, but in daily life too. Sid had noticed though, that Zhenya tends to laugh at his own jokes a lot more when he’s not trying to be seductive. He loves tacky decorations, and expensive clothes that look terrible on the mannequin, and not that much better on Zhenya. They do look alright on the floor of the hotel room though, Sid will give them that.

He tweets a lot, and posts to instagram at least three times a day if left unsupervised, but Sid never has to remind him to keep him out of his social media stories, which is great because having to explain over and over again that his private life should stay private gets old and annoying fast.

They’ll stay in touch, though, and next time Zhenya comes to Pittsburgh to visit Gonch, he and Sid can meet up and pick up where they left off. Maybe, if Zhenya stays long enough, they can hang out with the whole team, and Sid will let him stay at his house, show off some of the new paintings he commissioned this summer. They’re all of the lake view from his home here in Cole Harbour, and one of the forest trails where he likes to run.

Sid’s got a great feeling about this, and he can’t wait for the new hockey season to start.

* * *

It’s September, and the team’s different.

Sid didn’t forget that Flower would be gone—how _could_ he forget—but knowing it in theory, and then coming back to Pittsburgh and not see him in the locker room is jarring.

Hossa’s on indefinite IR, and Kuni has gone and signed with Tampa. They’ve been replaced by this new kid Guentzel, who, after four weeks still looks at Sid as if Sid had hung the moon.

He’ll shake that wide-eyed rookie look soon enough, Sid is sure. It usually takes them up to two months to realise that Sid’s just a normal guy who spits on the locker room floor, and stinks after practice like everybody else.

In the meantime, they play hockey. They win as many games as they lose for a long stretch, and finally, in the new year, they hit a few winning streaks.

Zhenya texts that he’s going to be back in Pittsburgh by the end of January, and Sid marks the date of his arrival in his calendar.

They keep playing. Jake’s long since gotten over his awkward You-Are-Sidney-Crosby-phase, and the team’s doing well. None of the trades have shaken them to the core—yet—and they’re inching closer to a playoff spot bit by bit.

Then Hossa announces his retirement to the team, though not the public yet. Sid saw it coming, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. This is Duper all over again, and Sid hates feeling helpless and useless. This isn’t anything that can be solved with hard work or practice, or a good talk with the team captain. They all need to just accept it and move on.

He decides to cheer himself up by picking up some of Zhenya’s favourite snacks from the little Russian grocery store that Sid found a few weeks back. He still thinks that Alyonka is nowhere near as good as Reese’s, personally, but he can have some on hand for Zhenya.

The store’s thankfully not overrun, and the few people who wander the two aisles don’t recognise him. On a whim, he picks up some vodka, the brand that Zhenya mentioned in one of his texts, and some pickled cucumbers, too, because apparently, that’s what real Russians eat when drinking. Once he’s done browsing the shelves, he takes his groceries to the register, and waits patiently as the old man behind the counter rings it all up one by one.

His gaze lands on what he thinks must be a Russian gossip magazine. It’s got the familiar layout, and normally Sid doesn’t pay them more than a second’s worth of attention, but there’s Zhenya on the cover, next to another man, and whatever the caption is saying, it’s surrounded by hearts and doves and wedding rings.

Sid grabs the magazine and holds it out the old man.

“Excuse me, could you tell me what this says?” he asks, pointing to the headline.

The old man squints, and adjusts his glasses.

“Princes set wedding date,” he says, and Sid’s jaw drops.

He looks back at the cover.

“Are you absolutely sure?” he asks, because there’s a chance he misheard. “Princes set wedding date?”

“Yes,” the man says. “Prince Evgeni and Prince Alexander are getting married in August.”

_ Prince Evgeni_, Sid mouths silently.

“Uh, thanks,” Sid says, and puts the magazine back into the stand. “How much do I owe you?”

He doesn’t remember paying, or leaving the shop, or driving home.

When he gets there, he leaves his shopping on the kitchen counter and finds his laptop.

It’s time to google Evgeni Malkin.

* * *

As it turns out, Zhenya’s full name is Evgeni Vladimirovich Malkin, Prince of Magnitogorsk, son of King Vladimir and Queen Natalia of Chelyabinsk. The man in the picture next to him is Alexander Valerievich Radulov, Prince of Nizhny Tagil in the neighbouring country Sverdlovsk.

They’ve been engaged for a year. Longer than Sid’s known Zhenya.

Sid had known that Russia consists of nearly a hundred single kingdoms, but Russia is far away, and apart from the few Russian players he knows, there’s not much reason for him to keep up with what’s going on over there. He certainly wouldn’t know every single monarch and their families. He doubts any of the Russians in the NHL know _all_ of them.

Except… Gonch at least must’ve known that Zhenya is royal. Gonch’s from Chelyabinsk, if Sid remembers correctly. Surely he knows his own monarchs. Surely he knows that Zhenya’s been _engaged_.

Does he know that Sid and Zhenya hooked up? Shit, what if he does? What does he think of Sid?

And that’s… fuck. How could Zhenya cheat on his fiancé? How could he make Sid complicit in that?

He tries to remember if Zhenya ever mentioned a significant other, or if there were any signs that Sid should’ve picked up on. He’s absolutely certain that Zhenya hadn’t been wearing an engagement ring, and he never behaved suspiciously in the way that some cheaters do. No scrambling to hide his phone from Sid, no calls that Zhenya would avoid.

For all intents and purposes, Zhenya appeared free to hook up with Sid.

He needs to call Zhenya and sort this out. Sid checks the clock. It’s nearly six in the evening. What time is it in Chelyabinsk? He knows it’s several hours ahead of him, but he doesn’t know how many exactly. He guesses it’s going to be the middle of the night anyway, so it doesn’t make a difference whether it’s one or three in the morning.

He’ll just leave a message and let Zhenya call him back.

Instead, Zhenya answers on the third ring.

“Sid?” Zhenya asks sleepily.

“Are you really a prince?” is the first thing that comes out of Sid’s mouth.

“Where d’you hear that? Did Gonch tell?” Zhenya says, sounding a lot more awake all of a sudden. That settles whether or not Gonch knew.

“No, I saw you on the cover of a magazine and the cashier said you’re a prince, and then I googled you,” Sid says all in one go.

“Then why you ask? You already know,” Zhenya says calmly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sid’s fidgeting with the laptop, staring at a picture of Zhenya in full regalia at a state event.

“Wasn’t important. I’m not Prince Evgeni in America. Can be just Zhenya there,” Zhenya explains. Sid can imagine how he looks right now. A bit sheepish, and a lot regretful.

To be fair, Sid can sort of understand that reason. It’s why he likes going to Europe or other places. He’s rarely recognised as Sidney Crosby outside of Canada or the States.

“What about Prince Alexander,” Sidney asks, because that’s the bigger problem here. “You’re getting married?”

There’s a long pause from Zhenya’s end.

“Because from what I’ve read, you’ve been engaged since January last year, and that means that you were engaged when you hooked up with me. Hang on, is that why you were careful about not taking any pictures of us together? I thought you were respecting my privacy, but you were protecting your own instead, weren’t you?” Sid says.

“It’s not cheating,” Zhenya is quick to say, and Sid snorts in disbelief.

“Not to you maybe. I bet your fiancé begs to differ.”

“It’s not like that,” Zhenya pleads. He didn’t sound desperate before, but Sid can hear the panic in his voice now. “Sasha and I, we don’t love each other. It’s arranged marriage, not real relationship.”

Sid doesn’t care. No one else is going to see it that way. If Zhenya can’t understand that, he’s got no business hanging around Sid.

“It makes no difference,” Sid says. “You should’ve told me from the start, and you didn’t. I don’t care if you come to the games when you’re here, but we’re not going to repeat the week in August. Don’t come round to my place.”

Sid rubs at his forehead. This is all such a mess. He and Zhenya, they could’ve been good friends. They had fun together, they worked together in all kinds of ways, but even if Zhenya’s telling the truth about his relationship—or lack thereof—with his actual fiancé, he lied to Sid about it. He endangered Sid, his career, and the Penguins franchise, and for what? Orgasms and flirting.

“Take care, Zhenya. I hope you and Prince Alexander will have a good marriage. I mean that.”

And with that, he hangs up on Zhenya, and calls Pat and Jen next.

* * *

Zhenya curses loudly, and scrambles to get out of bed. He tries calling back Sid but Sid’s phone is busy, so Zhenya does the next best thing, and calls Sasha.

“You better be dying,” Sasha greets him sleepily.

“I fucked up,” Zhenya says. Sasha will forgive him for waking him in the middle of the night. Eventually. Right now, Zhenya needs someone to talk to.

“What else is new?” Sasha says around a yawn, “Is your life in danger?”

“No,” Zhenya bites out.

“Is someone else’s life in danger?” Sasha amends patiently.

“No,” Zhenya admits. He’s pacing his room.

“Then I’m going back to sleep and you can call me at a reasonable hour.”

“Wait, Sasha!” Zhenya calls, “Please, just listen.”

Sasha sighs longsufferingly. “Fine. What did you do?”

“I had a thing with Sidney Crosby.”

“Oh shit,” Sasha says, and Zhenya can tell he has his full attention now.

“I met him at a Cup party at his own house in June. Seryozha introduced us. It was… So good, Sasha. He’s _so_ good. His dick is just—”

“I don’t need that much detail, Zhenya,” Sasha interrupts grumpily.

“Shut up, you _want_ to know if he’s bigger than you. Bite your elbows all you want, I won’t tell you now,” Zhenya says, smirking at the empty room.

“I don’t care if he’s bigger,” Sasha says loftily. “My dick is the perfect size, and I know how to use it.”

“That’s what you think. That’s what _I_ thought. But Sid’s—”

“Seriously,” Sasha says, louder this time. “I don’t want to hear it. Tell me about how you fucked up.”

“What if I fucked up his perfect dick? How am I supposed to tell you about it if you won’t let me explain how perfect it is?” Somehow, Zhenya manages to say this with a completely straight face and even more serious voice.

Sasha’s silent for exactly three seconds.

“You didn’t actually break Sidney Crosby’s dick, did you?” he finally asks.

“You’ll have to listen to the rest of it to find out,” Zhenya says haughtily.

Sasha groans. “Fine, keep going.”

Zhenya grins gleefully, but decides to spare Sasha. He really doesn’t need to know in what ways Sid’s dick is absolutely flawless.

“We texted over the summer, while I was still in America, and then I went to Canada to see him, and to see a little bit of Canada,” he tells Sasha instead.

Sasha snorts. “You don’t give a single fuck about Canada. You _only_ went to have more sex with him.”

“Shut up,” Zhenya says, his cheeks starting to heat with embarrassment. He’s glad Sasha can’t see him. “It was fantastic sex. You would go on vacation to Canada too to get fucked that well.”

“I said not too much detail!” Sasha groans.

“You asked for it,” Zhenya replies petulantly. “Anyway, we had a great week, not just having sex, and then I came back home, and he went back to Pittsburgh and we stayed in touch. I was going to see him again in a few weeks when I visit Seryozha, maybe have some more fun.”

“Let me guess. The part where you fucked up is coming up soon?” Sasha asks.

Zhenya takes a moment to remember the way Sid sounded so offended and angry. Angry that Zhenya lied, and that Zhenya cheated on his fiancé.

“Yes,” Zhenya says. “I never told him about my title. Or you.”

“Zhenya,” Sasha says, drawing his name out in exasperation.

“It never came up! And I didn’t want to be Prince Evgeni, I wanted to be just Zhenya, like I’m with you or Ilyusha,” Zhenya replies defensively. “I didn’t think it would matter anyway. You and I have our arrangement, and we’ll do our duty, but we agreed we wouldn’t have to put our lives on hold until the day we actually had to commit.”

“So, what? He found out you’re engaged and now he thinks you cheated? Do you want me to call him and tell him that I don’t care, that it was mutual and I’ve had affairs as well?” Sasha sounds like he’s ready to write down Sid’s number and call him right this second.

“No,” Zhenya sighs. “I told him all of that, and I think he believed me. He’s upset that I lied, I believe.”

Sasha’s quiet for a while, long enough that Zhenya thinks he might have fallen back asleep. Then Sasha sighs deeply, and Zhenya knows he’s got another lashing coming.

“I can’t say I don’t agree with him,” Sasha says. “It might not matter so much to regular people if you don’t tell them who you are. For a lot of them, it’s of no consequence, and you might be in danger of finding a tell-all story in the papers, but no worse scandal than that. Just because _we_ know royal marriages are arranged, and affairs are acceptable, doesn’t mean everyone knows that. Americans are different. They’re prudish and overly invested in bigot morality.”

Sasha sighs again. “And Zhenya, I hate to say it, but any time you don’t tell someone who you are or that you’re engaged, you take away their ability to fully consent. It’s not fair to them.”

“It’s not fair that I can’t just have relationships like normal people!” Zhenya argues, even though he knows Sasha is right.

“It’s not,” Sasha agrees. “But you get a whole lot of privileges in return.”

Zhenya sits down heavily on the foot of his bed.

“I told you I fucked up,” he says at length.

“You did,” Sasha confirms. “Which means you didn’t actually need me to tell you. Why did you really call me?”

“I don’t know,” Zhenya hedges. He lets himself fall backwards onto his bed, legs hanging off of the end.

“I think you do,” Sasha says gently. “I think you really like Crosby and you can’t stand the thought that he might hate you now.”

Zhenya rubs a palm over his face. “Why do you always have to be so smart?”

Sasha laughs. “I’m not. I’ve just known _you_ since we were children.”

“Yes, and you always stole my cakes,” Zhenya complains, but he’s smiling at the memory.

“It’s my right as the older one.”

“By twenty-six days! It doesn’t count.”

“It absolutely does, and you know it. If you were older than me, you’d be rubbing it in my face at every opportunity.”

Zhenya snickers knowing that yes, he would.

“What are you going to do about Crosby?” Sasha asks eventually.

“I don’t know there’s anything I _can_ do,” Zhenya admits. “He was very angry when he called earlier. He said he doesn’t want to spend time with me again, and the fling is definitely over.”

“Then give him time to calm down. Maybe he’ll see things differently in a few weeks when it’s sunk in that you and I aren’t in love. Even though you clearly should be head over heels in love with me,” Sasha says.

“Shut up,” Zhenya says, but he’s smiling. “If either one of us should be in love with the other, it should be you with me. I’m much more handsome.”

Sasha snorts. “In your dreams maybe.”

Zhenya chuckles, but soon falls silent again.

Waiting. Zhenya hates waiting. He hates not acting. It’s not how he is. If there’s something or someone he wants, he goes after them. 

“You could also talk to Seryozha. He knows Crosby better than you do, doesn’t he? Maybe he’s got an idea,” Sasha offers, because Sasha, too, knows that Zhenya is terrible at letting things be.

Zhenya cringes. Seryozha had told Zhenya to stay away from Sid after the first time, and Zhenya hadn’t listened.

“I’ll talk to him,” Zhenya says.

“You do that,” Sasha agrees. “And I’ll go back to sleep.”

“Lazy,” Zhenya teases on reflex. “It’s nearly five, you should get up and start your day.”

Sasha snorts. “If that’s what you want to do, go right ahead. I’m going to get a couple more hours of sleep in. Good night, Zhenya.”

“Sleep well,” Zhenya offers, then lets his phone fall out of his hand onto the bed.

He knows he won’t be able to sleep anymore, but he’s not ready to leave his room and face the day either. So he stays where he is, flat on his back on top of his bed, and stares at the canopy of his ornate four-poster bed, and thinks about ways to make it up to Sid.

The thing is, the sex _was_ spectacular, but Sasha is right: Zhenya does like Sid for more than just that. They had fun during that week in Canada when they weren't fucking, too. Sid's easy and fun to talk to, and because he's got an athlete's energy, he likes to stay active, and be outside. Better than any of the sightseeing and shopping Zhenya did in Nova Scotia were the afternoons spent on a boat, swimming and fishing, or on a forest trail with Sid.

Zhenya sighs and rolls over, drawing his knees up so his entire body is on the bed. He can admit that if it weren't for the engagement, he'd have asked Sid out on a proper date. Maybe they would've held hands over dinner, and leaned against each other during a movie. They could've made out and not have had sex. It would've been sweet and romantic, and Zhenya wishes it could've happened.

* * *

Zhenya doesn’t call Seryozha. Seryozha would just berate him, and tell him that he shouldn’t have messed with Sid in the first place. Zhenya doesn’t regret getting involved with Sid though. Zhenya only regrets not being honest with him.

Which is why he shows up at Sid’s house only hours after touching down in Pittsburgh. The Penguins didn’t play tonight, so Sid should be home around dinner time.

Unless he has plans with someone else of course. Zhenya would’ve called first, but then Sid would’ve told him not to come, and Zhenya needed to come, needed to apologise to Sid, and make him forgive him.

What he forgot is that Sid’s driveway is behind a gate, and the gate can’t be opened without the security code. The night of the Cup party, the gate was open, or maybe Seryozha had the code—Zhenya doesn’t remember the details.

Tonight it’s firmly closed. The metaphor in the entire situation isn’t lost on Zhenya, and he grimaces.

There’s nothing for it. Either he turns around and ambushes Sid in public, or he rings the bell and hopes for the best.

Zhenya pushes the doorbell and waits.

An eternity passes before the intercom comes to life with static crackling over the tiny speaker.

“I told you not to come,” Sid says. Zhenya can’t be sure, not with the poor audio quality, but Sid doesn’t sound angry.

“Had to,” Zhenya says. “I want to talk to you.”

“There’s nothing left to be said,” Sid replies.

“There’s a lot left to be said,” Zhenya insists. “But I don’t want to stand on street to say it.”

“I’m not letting you in,” Sid says, and now Zhenya can hear the sharpness in his voice.

“Sid,” he pleads. “Just ten minutes. Need to explain—” 

“No,” Sid cuts him off. “I don’t want to hear it. Go away, and don’t come back here.”

With that, the static suddenly cuts off and Zhenya’s left standing outside the gate, the horrible feeling that he just made a bad situation worse settling into his stomach like cats scratching at his soul.

* * *

Predictably, Seryozha yells at him for a solid half hour when Zhenya finally admits what he did.

He won’t take this kind of treatment from just anyone, mind you, but Seryozha is special in many ways, and this situation in particular is wholly different. This isn’t about state matters or diplomacy, it’s about the captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins, a team that Seryozha works for, and a man that Seryozha considers a peer, maybe a superior, possibly even a friend.

And Zhenya did fuck it up royally, pun intended.

“If he told you to stay away, I don’t know what you were expecting to accomplish by ambushing him at home,” Seryozha says for the tenth time.

“I wanted to apologise!” Zhenya repeats like the nine times before that.

“I’m guessing Sid’s probably not in the mood for your apologies. You can’t expect him to just forget about it. Do you even really know why he’s angry with you?”

Seryozha has finally stopped yelling and sat down next to Zhenya.

“He’s angry that I lied,” Zhenya says.

“Are you sure that’s all he’s angry about? If I know Sid at all, there’s more to it,” Seryozha says. He leans back into the couch, face serious. “What exactly did he say?”

“He said that I lied to him and that I cheated on Sasha. I told him that Sasha and I don’t have that kind of relationship, and that Sasha is okay with me having flings,” Zhenya says.

“Then what did he say?” Seryozha asks, frown deepening.

Zhenya tips his head back and tries to remember the phone call. 

“He said that it doesn’t matter, and that I shouldn’t come to his house.” He cringes. Sid did say that, and Zhenya ignored it.

“Zhenya,” Seryozha says in exasperation. “Telling you to do something is like throwing peas at the wall!”

“I do as I’m told all the fucking time,” Zhenya shoots back. “My parents tell me to stop playing hockey, so I do. They send me to school to learn about foreign politics and diplomacy, and I go and I learn. They tell me I’m going to marry Sasha, and I will. I just wanted to have some fun with Sid, but apparently I’m not allowed to have fun either. Fucking Americans and their fucking prudishness.”

“Calm down,” Seryozha says patronisingly. “Your life is terribly hard, I know. All the wealth and travelling really do make things so difficult. There, there.”

“What do you even know? You don’t have that kind of spotlight on you all the time!” Zhenya snaps.

“I don’t,” Seryozha agrees. “But Sidney does. Comparatively speaking, he gets about as much attention as you do, maybe even more. He, too, has all kinds of privileges, but he’s under constant scrutiny and there are enough people in the hockey world who hate his guts just because he’s got more talent than them, and because he’s the one who actually saved the NHL. You think it’s hard being you? Try being Sidney Crosby for a day. The man can’t sneeze without people fretting over his health and the end of his career, while the rest of them get ready to dance on his grave.”

Zhenya… Well, Zhenya had not thought of it that way. It’s not that he forgot that Sid is Sidney Crosby. Of course he knew all along. It was part of the appeal in the beginning to get his attention, to be the one Sidney Crosby wanted to fuck only days after winning the Cup.

But Sid has a way about himself that makes people forget that he’s Sidney Crosby. Very soon he’s just Sid, who has a funny laugh, likes to fish, and fucks like the god of lust possessed him.

There is a chance though that _Sid_ never forgets that he’s not just Sid. In public, he’s always Sidney Crosby. Even in his hometown, where people are generally really good about respecting his privacy, tourists would come up to them during dinner and shyly ask for autographs, and Sid would always have a smile for them and sign something, and take a picture. He never once said no to someone, and if kids were part of the equation, he’d spend double the time talking to them.

Sid is always in role model mode when he’s in public. That isn’t to say that he isn’t genuinely nice and easy to talk to in private as well, but it takes on a different shine when it’s outside the privacy of someone’s house, or Zhenya’s hotel room.

Zhenya hadn’t ever thought about it until now, but that’s who Sid is. Zhenya gets recognised in Chelyabinsk all the time, as well as in any of the neighbouring countries. People don’t approach him though. He’s royalty, and usually surrounded by security. He doesn’t need it here in the US because mostly, no one knows who he is, and he enjoys that freedom.

It’s different for Sid. He doesn’t have bodyguards, people always want to talk to him, and Sid is often too polite to tell them no. He’s a public figure, probably more famous than Zhenya himself, and like Seryozha said, anything Sid does is scrutinised.

“I think he’s angry that this thing with me could threaten his reputation,” Zhenya says, and it doesn’t feel exactly right, so he frowns and gives it some more thought.

The impression Zhenya got from Sid during the few days they spent together is that Sid’s media persona is deliberately bland most of the time. He realises now that Sid does this so he won’t attract extra attention. Thinking back to when he himself was just a pimply teen, or barely legal adult, he’d been following Sid’s career from Russia. Zhenya remembers a younger Sid whose emotions sometimes got the better of him, and how the press crucified him for it. They called him unprofessional, and there was a lot of backlash against Sid and the Penguins as a team once he started playing for them. Even from thousands of miles away, Zhenya, who was just a fan, thought that it was unfair that Sid wasn’t allowed to say what he feels. Zhenya, who often got told off for wearing his emotions on his sleeve, could relate to how frustrating that must’ve been.

And then, at some point, Sid learned to be bland and pleasant and never show what he really feels or thinks. He became what they call a hockey robot, and of course that isn’t good enough either. Now the press is watching Sid like vultures gathering for a feast.

“If it had come out, it would have reflected badly on his family, and his team,” Zhenya finally says.

Seryozha hums. “I think you might be right about that.”

Zhenya groans. “No wonder he’s so angry. And to top it all off I went to his house when he forbade me to do it.”

“Yeah,” Seryozha says, patting Zhenya on the knee. “You really fucked up.”

“I know,” Zhenya says. “Now tell me how to fix it.”

Seryozha sighs. “I’m not sure you can. Do as Sid told you. Keep your distance while you’re here, and don’t put him into any more awkward situations. Don’t ambush him again.”

“I won’t!” Zhenya protests. “I wasn’t going to!”

Seryozha gives him an unimpressed look that says how much he doesn’t believe a word Zhenya’s saying.

“Not anymore,” Zhenya amends.

“I’m glad to hear it. If the chance presents itself—only _if_ —I’ll try talking to him on your behalf. I’m not risking my own relationship with him for your sake. The team’s more important than your hurt feelings over a summer fling that ended badly.”

Zhenya nods. “Thank you. I wouldn’t want you to risk your relationship either.”

Seryozha squeezes Zhenya’s knee, and then gets up. “Get some sleep, your highness. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Zhenya highly doubts it—not now that he understands just how much he fucked up with Sid—but it’s good advice nevertheless.

“You, too, Seryozha. And thank you.”

“Anytime, Zhenya. What are friends for, if not to help you realise your dumb mistakes?”

Zhenya smiles wryly. “Indeed. I’d be lost without you and Sasha.”

“Don’t say that,” Seryozha says, smiling warmly. “Ilyusha also helps out a great deal.”

Zhenya breaks into a laugh just as Seryozha closes the door to the guest room.

* * *

February has been going well for the Pens despite the fact that they lost two days ago. They’re still winning more often than they’re losing, and that’s important this far into the season. Tomorrow they’re playing the Devils here in Pittsburgh, and everyone’s been doing well during practice.

“Sid, do you have a moment?” Gonch asks just as the session is ending, and Sid skates over to see what he wants. Gonch hasn’t said anything about Zhenya to Sid, and Sid is starting to think that he probably doesn’t know anything about their fling. He’s relieved at that. Not that he doesn’t trust Gonch to keep the secret—of course he does—but Sid’s not thrilled about the idea of one of his coaches knowing that much about his personal life, even if it’s a former teammate like Gonch.

“What’s up?” Sid asks just as he stops in front of Gonch.

Gonch looks behind Sid, and Sid’s stomach sinks. Whatever Gonch has to say, he doesn’t want anyone else overhearing it. So much for Sid’s hope that Gonch doesn’t know anything.

“Look,” Gonch starts. “I know you don’t want to talk to him. He fucked up, and you’re right to be mad at him. For what it’s worth though, he never meant to put you in that position.”

Sid keeps his expression blank, and when it’s clear he’s not going to say whatever Gonch had hoped for, Gonch goes on.

“It’s his last night here. He’s flying home tomorrow. All he wants is a chance to apologise properly to you. You don’t owe him anything, but I’d consider it a personal favour to me if you gave him the chance to say his piece.”

Sid watches Gonch for a few more seconds, before he nods. “I’ll think about it.”

“You can come to dinner, if you like,” Gonch offers, but Sid shakes his head. He doesn’t want to sit through an entire meal with Zhenya, especially not when the Gonchars are watching.

“I’ll drop by before that,” he says, and realises too late that it’s already a promise to show up at all. He supposes he’d already decided to go.

“Thanks, Sidney,” Gonch says.

“It’s fine,” Sid says. “But afterwards I don’t ever want it brought up again.”

“No, of course not. It’s your private business, I understand that,” Gonch says.

Sid nods. “Alright. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, see you,” Gonch says, and claps him on the shoulder as Sid skates off.

* * *

Sid shows up a little after five, early enough so he won’t get bullied into staying for dinner afterwards. He’s only here to listen to Zhenya’s apology, not to make nice with him.

It’s Gonch who opens the door and ushers Sid inside.

“Zhenya’s in the backyard with the kids,” Gonch says. “Why don’t you join him and tell the kids to come inside? I have jobs for them.”

“For sure,” Sid agrees, and walks through the house to the back porch.

The last time he’d seen Zhenya was on the grainy screen of his security unit. He’s just as tall and attractive as Sid remembers, though. He’s laughing about something the kids are doing, and then speaking excitedly in Russian. It’s a nice sound. His voice sounds deeper than it does in English, and Sid has a vision of them in bed together, Zhenya whispering filthy Russian into Sid’s ear.

The sudden flash of anger that accompanies the fantasy is quickly clamped down. There’s no reason to be upset about not getting to have that. Sid reminds himself that hooking up with Zhenya is a bad idea.

“Natalie, Victoria, your dad says to come inside. He’s got jobs for you,” Sid calls when he’s close enough that he can see the girls. He remembers a time when they were toddlers, but now they’re teens, and predictably not thrilled about the prospect of having to do chores. Sid just finds their grumpy faces hilarious.

The startled, deer-caught-in-headlight look on Zhenya’s face is equally amusing, but Sid’s not going to let Zhenya know he thinks that.

The girls stop to hug him hello at least, and then drag their feet as they make their way inside, until it’s finally just Sid and Zhenya left outside.

“Sid,” Zhenya breathes. “Thank you for coming.”

Sid doesn’t say ‘You’re welcome,’ because he doesn’t think it would be polite to say it when he doesn’t mean it.

“Gonch said you wanted to talk to me before you fly home,” he says instead.

“Yes,” Zhenya says. He takes a few steps closer but thankfully stops long before he’s within arm’s reach of Sid. “Let’s go down to pool. Fewer eyes watching.”

“Alright,” Sid says. He won’t deny that he appreciates having a bit more privacy for this conversation.

They end up next to the garden shed where they’re mostly out of sight of the house, and where Gonch has set up a little bench under a pergola. Sid spares a thought for how this bench should be inside the garden shed during winter, but since it’s not his furniture, he doesn’t care too much. Either way, he gets the chance to sit down and cross his arms in front of his chest.

“Well?” he prompts.

Zhenya rubs the back of his neck and looks down at Sid.

“First of all, I’m sorry I lied,” he begins. “I know it was shitty thing to do. Here in America, I don’t have to be Prince Evgeni. I can be Zhenya, and have fun.”

“You already said that,” Sid points out, just a bit mean. He huffs. “I kind of get that though,” he amends. “When I’m in Europe, I don’t tell people who I am, especially not if I’m just looking to hook up.”

Zhenya nods. “Yes! But should have told you. I know who you are when we meet, but you don’t know who I am. It’s different because we’re both little bit famous.”

“Yeah,” Sid agrees slowly.

“And I think I understand why it’s so bad I didn’t tell you. If people find out I’m engaged, they will say Sidney Crosby’s a bad person for sleeping with someone who’s already taken. They’ll say bad things about your family maybe, and about your team.” Zhenya pauses, looking intently at Sid to gauge his reaction.

“That’s correct,” Sid says. “The prince bit doesn’t matter so much. I mean, it’s not great. It’s certainly a bigger scandal, and a better headline that I slept with a foreign prince.” 

_ Pillow Princess Sidney_ would most definitely show up on a lot of posters if that ever came out, but Sid’s used to these kind of insults. He barely even registers them anymore.

He uncrosses his arms, and folds his hands in his lap, let’s his gaze drop down to them. “The part where you’re… _betrothed_ is what’s really going to matter. It would look really bad for the Pens if they had a player who did something like that.”

Sid knows that there are worse things he could’ve done and gotten away with. He’s read articles about other players in the league who didn’t cheat but committed actual crimes, both during his time, and before, and who never had to endure any real repercussions. And yet, Sid doubts that the kind of ignorance would be applied to him. Maybe the Pens would stand behind him, but he’s not sure all the fans would feel the same.

“I know,” Zhenya says. “I get it now. I’m sorry I put you in that position. Should’ve thought with my head instead of my dick.”

Sid can’t help the chuckle that escapes him. “Yeah, well, it _is_ a nice dick.”

He doesn’t need to look at Zhenya to know Zhenya’s poking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. Instead, he keeps looking at his hands.

“There’s one more apology,” Zhenya says after a moment, sounding serious again. “I’m sorry for coming to your house when you said no. I ignored boundaries and made you angrier.”

Sid raises his eyes to Zhenya’s face again. Zhenya truly looks contrite, and in that moment, Sid decides that it’s too much effort to hold on to the anger from before. He was angry, he was disappointed, and now he’s had time to cool off. Nothing bad happened, no one found out, and the more time passes, the smaller the likelihood that anyone will find out. Sid dodged the bullet well in advance.

“Thanks for apologising,” he says at length. “I’m glad I came to hear you out.”

“You forgive me?” Zhenya asks, his voice so painfully hopeful that it makes Sid wince inwardly. “Really-really?”

“Yeah, I forgive you,” he says. He stands and holds out a hand to Zhenya. For a moment it looks like Zhenya’s going to ignore it and pull Sid into a hug instead, but then he seems to think better of it. His big hand envelopes Sid’s, and they both squeeze tightly.

“Thanks, Sid,” Zhenya says, and Sid can tell Zhenya means it. Zhenya’s clearly been worried about Sid hating him for the rest of his life, and Sid almost feels a little bad about that. In hindsight, Zhenya had no malicious intentions towards Sid. He was a little thoughtless, but he never meant to deceive Sid, or actively damage his reputation.

Sid finds it easier to forgive him than to hold on to the grudge.

They let go of each other’s hands a moment later, and Zhenya breaks into a genuine smile.

“Staying for dinner?” he asks, all hopeful and excited, but Sid shakes his head. The air is cleared between them, and he’s glad for it, but he’s not ready to pretend like nothing happened.

“Next time you’re in town,” he says. “I’ve got other plans tonight.”

“Oh,” Zhenya says, visibly disappointed. “For sure.”

Sid huffs a quiet laugh. He wonders if Zhenya’s even aware he picked up the phrase.

“Take care, Zhenya. I hope things work out for you.”

“You too, Sid. Win another Cup!” 

Sid shrugs. “We haven’t clinched the playoffs yet,” he demures.

They walk back to the house, and Sid takes the route around the side to get directly to his car without passing through the house. He’s got a feeling that Gonch might’ve tried to sic Ksenia on him, and then Sid really would’ve had to stay for dinner.

He feels better as he drives home. A little lighter. While he didn’t dwell on it too hard for the last weeks, the niggling worry about the whole situation had been at the back of his mind, and now it’s finally gone.

It’s a good feeling, and maybe it’s a good omen for the rest of the regular season.

* * *

They clinch a spot a little over a month later, and while the season isn’t over yet—the real fight is only just about to begin once the post-season starts—Sid is happy. They made it to the playoffs again. They haven’t missed them since he joined the team, and the three-peat is so close, he desperately wants it even though he knows their chances are much slimmer than last year. They’re all tired from having short summers two years in a row, and everyone is plagued by injuries this time of year.

Still, Sid feels good tonight, and as he walks past the painting of the lake view from his Cole Harbour house, he remembers that he never got around to showing it to Zhenya. If it hadn’t been for him, Sid never would’ve commissioned it in the first place. The thought had never occurred to him, to have a painting of his summer home here in Pittsburgh.

He remembers Zhenya telling him of the paintings his parents have in their home. Sid snorts. Knowing what he knows now, _home_ probably means _palace_ , or at the very least _massive, sprawling mansion_.

Sid steps back and takes a picture of the painting, then sends it to Zhenya.

Maybe it’s time to open up a channel of communication again. After all, in the summer, and afterwards, Sid thought he and Zhenya could become good friends. Sure, back then Sid had thought that that friendship would include benefits, but it’s okay if it doesn’t. Sid still has fun hanging out with Zhenya.

Zhenya texts back with heart eyes emojis, and a dozen closed parenthesis that Sid has learned are shorthand for smiley faces.

It makes him smile, too.

* * *

Five weeks later, the Caps kick them out of the second round, and the dream of the three-peat dies in early May.

Sid is disappointed. Of course he is. He’d hoped he could carry his team to another win, but it just hadn’t happened. Too many things haven’t gone their way. Calls not being made, plays not working out, and then Reeser got his jaw broken by Wilson, at which point the heavy weight of dread settled into the pit of Sid’s stomach and refused to budge until it was all over.

On top of that, the Caps have finally learned how to defend against them, after years of losing to them in the second round. Hockey is a team sport, Sid reminds himself. It’s not just on him to get them there.

Still, Sid’s disappointed in himself, and yeah, some of his teammates, the coaches, and management. He knows where their problems lie. He told Sully about them, and he talked to Jim, and he knows—he knows—they’re both doing the best they can with what they’ve got to work with. It’s not enough though. The changes they made aren’t good enough, don’t work fast enough, and now they’re here again.

After going all the way to the end for two years—winning it for two years—the bitter taste of loss is even worse than Sid remembers.

He tries to be grateful in this situation, and to stay optimistic. The Pens won the Cup twice in a row, and three times overall while he’s been playing for them. With any luck, he’ll be able to play long enough to win another one, and then he’ll have as many as Gretzky does. 

There’s still time. There will be other years, other opportunities.

Once the media’s gone and Sid has had a shower, he digs out his phone from his bag to check for messages. He expects to see missed calls from his parents and Taylor, maybe some texts from friends. Nate and Flower will check in with him tomorrow, he thinks. They know him well enough not to crowd him tonight, especially since Flower and his Knights just won their own series against the Sharks just yesterday.

There’s a message from Zhenya waiting as well. It doesn’t say much, only a string of open-parenthesis-frowny-faces. It’s that one that makes Sid smile the tiniest bit.

* * *

Cleanout day comes and goes, and then Sid’s going home to Canada only a couple of days later. Cole Harbour is familiar and welcoming. His mom cooks him his favourite food, and his dad talks to him about all the things Sid did right this post-season. They’ll dissect anything that went wrong later. For now, his parents are just happy to have him back for a little while.

He hasn’t told them yet that he’s already booked a flight to Europe. Not to play at Worlds, or even to watch any of the matches in Denmark. He just wants to get out of North America for a while, disappear into crowds where no one knows him.

The parallel to what Zhenya’s been doing last year is not lost on Sid, either. In fact, it was Zhenya who’d put the thought into Sid’s head in the first place. Go somewhere where he’s not recognised as often. Have some fun, and not worry about being Sidney Crosby for a little while.

Sid stays for another week, and then, with all his visas in place, and only the vaguest idea of where all he wants to go, he climbs aboard an airplane and flies to Europe.

London is nice enough, and Sid does all the touristy things before he looks up that tailor that Tanger has talked about.

In Switzerland, he enjoys the beautiful views, and skates, and hangs out with a peewee team who’re all a lot of fun.

In Munich, Tommy shows him around the city, and shares all his favourite places with Sid. It’s almost bittersweet, because neither one of them knows if Tommy is going to stay with the Pens for another season, but they’re both aware that the chances are slim.

Sid skates a lot, visits new places, meets other athletes. It’s good, and it’s relaxed, and even though all the people he hangs out with know who he is, there’s no real pressure on him. It’s nice. It’s what a vacation is supposed to feel like, he thinks.

It’s nearing the end of June and Sid has a plane ticket to Moscow from London in two days. He’s stopping over in Wimbledon today, plays some tennis—badly—and procrastinates on texting Zhenya.

He doesn’t need Zhenya’s permission to visit Russia, but he does want to see if they can maybe meet up. Talking to Zhenya has become a daily occurrence since the season ended. It’s still mostly pictures or short messages, but Sid’s been sharing his trek across Europe, and Zhenya in return has been telling Sid about his own summer in pictures: Days out on a beach with a new drone; days on a boat with friends; days playing with the children of the same friends or distant relatives or—twice—a bunch of orphans. They never talk about Zhenya’s upcoming wedding, even though Alexander shows up in a few of the pictures and videos Zhenya sends. Finally, Sid just texts him.

Zhenya  
  
I’m headed to Moscow in two days. Any chance I’ll meet you there?  
  


He receives a string of exclamation points in return, but Zhenya’s already typing the next message.

Zhenya  
  
I’m headed to Moscow in two days. Any chance I’ll meet you there?  
  
yes)))))))))) was going anyway with sasha and yusha. send me details, i’ll pick you up.  
  


Sid shakes his head, but he’s smiling fondly. Zhenya probably had no plans whatsoever to go to Moscow any time soon. After all, the wedding is only weeks away, and he probably has a ton of things to do until then. Sid appreciates it nevertheless. Being shown around Moscow by someone who knows Russian, and is a friend, will definitely be more fun than trying to muddle through on his own.

* * *

Sid doesn’t let Zhenya pick him up, and instead takes a cab from the airport to the hotel. He meets Zhenya there a little while later, once he’s settled in, and they have some tea and cakes in the hotel restaurant. Zhenya’s introducing Sid to the idea of putting jam in his tea, but Sid’s not convinced that’s going to be tasty.

“How was your journey?” Zhenya asks, and Sid shrugs.

“It was alright. I got a direct flight, and managed to grab a cab right outside the airport,” Sid tells him. “But I should’ve taken you up on the offer to come and get me. The cab was pretty expensive.”

Zhenya’s smile turns smug. “How much did you pay?”

“Uh, six thousand rubles?” Sid says. He’d checked the conversion rate after checking into his room, and learned that that was about 125 Canadian Dollars.

Zhenya nearly chokes on his tea, and ends up coughing violently. Sid has to slap him on the back a couple of times to help him catch his breath.

“You got ripped off like a small linden,” Zhenya wheezes finally. “Never take cab right outside airport. Always call through app, or use Uber. Or just let friend pick you up like I said I would!”

It’s not really an issue. It’s not like Sid’s hurting for money or anything, and tourists get ripped off everywhere. It’s part of the deal.

Sid grins, and bravely dumps a spoon of strawberry jam into his black tea. “I know now. I’ll be smarter next time, eh?”

The proud look on Zhenya’s face doesn’t go unnoticed.

* * *

Sid meets the princes Alexander and Ilya the next day, or, as Zhenya introduces them: “This is Sasha, worst best friend, huge splinter in my ass. And this is Ilyusha, most boring best friend. He’s our papa.”

Sid didn’t read up on etiquette regarding meeting members of any royal family, and so doesn’t bow or do anything other than incline his head, and say “It’s nice to meet you, Prince Alexander,” to which Alexander responds by pulling Sid into a tight hug. “No titles, I’m Sasha. We’re almost family, right?” he says, beaming at Sid.

Sid’s not sure what he means by that, but he agrees anyway. He and Zhenya are friends, and Sasha and Zhenya are getting married. Maybe that’s the Russian hospitality—the friend of my fiancé is my brother?

Prince Ilya is not quite as exuberant, and only shakes Sid’s hand and tells him to call him Ilyusha but only if Sid’s “comfortable with that.”

Sid never really understood the Russian’s obsession with cute nicknames, despite having played with and against a bunch of them, but he guesses it’s similar to hockey nicknames. Everyone gets one, they don’t always make sense, and they’re reserved for teammates and friends.

In that respect, Sid considers it an honor to be allowed to call them by their nicknames, and decides to do it.

“Thanks, Ilyusha. I’m Sid. It’s nice to meet you.”

Ilyusha smiles, and nods at Sid, then Zhenya and Sasha insert themselves back into the conversation by fighting loudly over where they should take Sid first.

In the end, Sid declares that he wants to see the famous sights first, and so they start at the Red Square like any proper tourists. Sasha and Zhenya continuously try to take Sid to the lesser known corners of the city, and it’s only Ilyusha’s voice of reason, and insistence that it’s Sid’s decision where they go, that stops them.

Sid can see why Zhenya called him out as the dad friend.

Sid’s secretly glad to have Ilyusha on his side. If it weren’t for him, Sid would’ve already ended up in a dingy bar in the sketchy parts of town, he’s sure. While Sid is ready to believe that Zhenya wouldn't be deliberately irresponsible about Sid’s safety or disrespectful towards his preferences, there’s also probably a world of difference between what a native Russian consider safe or fun, and what _Sid_ considers safe or fun.

He does let them drag him to an upscale club that Sasha loves two nights later though. There’s no reason not to go, and even Ilyusha made an argument in favour of it, so Sid relents, and digs through his suitcase for something to wear.

* * *

Sid expected the noise, the many drinks, and the dancing. He even expected the comfortable VIP lounge. He did not expect to end up on a couch alone with Sasha while Zhenya dances with abandon, and Ilyusha is successfully hitting on someone in a far corner of the lounge. He also didn’t expect Sasha to scoot in closer so they can talk more quietly to each other, because Sid didn’t think he and Sasha would have anything to talk about that no one else should overhear.

“Why aren’t you fucking Zhenya?” Sasha asks, the one thing Sid _certainly_ didn’t expect to be asked.

“Excuse me?” Sid turns his head to look at Sasha.

“You heard me. Zhenya wants you, I think you still want him. Why don’t you do something about it?” Sasha says as if it is the most natural question to ask someone he’d met only a couple of days ago.

“It’d be a bad idea,” Sid says slowly. “You’re getting married in a month.”

Sasha looks taken aback, shaking his head. “That’s not true.”

Sid frowns. Did he get the date wrong? Or maybe they changed it? “You’re engaged,” he amends. “Still a bad idea, like I said.”

Sasha keeps shaking his head. “No, I mean it’s not right. We’re not engaged anymore. Zhenya ended it a while ago.”

This, Sid expected least of all.

“He— what? When?” he asks. Zhenya hadn’t said a word about it to Sid.

“April,” Sasha says after a moment. “You didn’t know?”

“No!” Sid exclaims. “I had no fucking idea.”

Sasha stares at him in disbelief. “Then why did you come to Russia if not to give him another chance?”

Sid— has to think about this for a second. The obvious answer is _because I wanted to_ , but that begs the question why he wanted to, doesn’t it?

“I don’t know,” he says at length, and Sasha, thankfully, doesn’t press him on it.

They sit in silence for a few more minutes, each sipping their drinks, watching Ilyusha get the pretty blonde’s phone number, then Sid turns back to Sasha.

“Did he say why he broke it off? I thought it’s incredibly important to marry someone from the neighbouring kingdom?”

Sid had read up on it after he’d hung up on Zhenya that night. He’d needed to check whether what Zhenya had said about his relationship with Sasha was true. Apparently all the Russian kingdoms did this: The princes and princesses who weren’t next in line for the throne married a prince or princess who was in the same situation. They picked a different neighbouring country every time, and this way they managed to keep peaceful relations across all of Russia, because eventually, they all ended up with cousins and nieces three countries over.

Sasha shrugs. “It’s tradition, sure, but others have broken with it before. Sometimes love gets in the way, or other reasons.”

“What’s Zhenya’s reason?” Sid asks again. “Did he tell you?”

Sasha looks at Sid for a long moment. “It’s not because of you. Or at least not just because of you. Maybe the thing with you was what finally convinced him, but he didn’t do it so he could get back together with you” he says finally, and Sid feels himself relax.

“We weren’t together.” Sid say. “And I didn’t think—” 

“Yes, you did,” Sasha says, and he’s grinning. “It’s alright. The timing fits, and the thing is, you did play a part in it. Of course you’d think he did it for you.”

Sid picks up his glass and drains the last of his drink.

“It’s okay,” Sasha says, patting him on the knee. “Zhenya’s always been a romantic. He always wanted to marry for love. He and I, we’re best friends, but nothing else. We tried things together when we were younger. You know, kissing, fucking,” Sasha shrugs again. “It was all good and fun, but it wasn’t love. Not the love Zhenya wants, in any case. For me, I don’t care. I would’ve married him, and it would’ve been good for me. Maybe I would’ve found a girlfriend or a boyfriend later, and Zhenya would’ve been okay with that. But that’s me. Zhenya wants true love, and he wants to be monogamous. Marrying me would’ve stood in the way of finding that for himself.”

Sasha smiley wryly. “He met you and he had fun. He liked you a lot, and believe me, Zhenya’s not usually taken so easily with people, despite his romantic nature. But then you said you never wanted to see him again because he’s getting married, and because he lied to you. That’s when it really sunk in for him that he could never have what he wants if he marries me.”

Sid leans back, fiddling with the empty glass in his hand. It’s a lot to take in, and on the list of things Sid did not expect to happen tonight, thinking about what it could mean for him if Zhenya’s available in every sense, is pretty high up there.

Sasha’s arm slides around Sid’s shoulder, and he’s pulled into a sideways hug.

“You think about why you came to Russia, and then, maybe, you’ll talk to Zhenya about it. He didn’t stop the wedding for you, but I know he still likes you a lot. Once he decides he’s into someone, it’s hard for him to let go. Plus,” Sasha grins devilishly, “He talks about you all the fucking time. It’s kind of annoying, but also kind of cute.”

Sasha claps him on the shoulders, and gets up from the couch, and leaves Sid alone with his thoughts and his empty glass.

When Sid finally looks up, his eyes land on Zhenya, who’s still dancing on the floor below, perfectly visible from the VIP lounge. Even in the dim light of the club and across the distance, Sid can tell Zhenya’s having fun. His mouth is open in a laugh, eyes probably crinkling in the corners, and his body language is open and inviting. His legs look impossibly long in his jeans, and the white shirt he’s wearing is tight, unbuttoned down to his clavicle, and the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms.

Sid feels the same pang of attraction he’s felt the first time he saw Zhenya at his house in Pittsburgh, over a year ago. It had been so easy with Zhenya then. They’d both known what they wanted, and the attraction had clearly been mutual. Now, Zhenya’s single, and if Sasha’s right, Zhenya’s still interested.

Why _did_ Sid want to come to Russia?

_ I wanted to see the forests for myself,_ he thinks, and while that’s true, it’s not a good enough reason for him to detour on his vacation to go to Russia.

_ I wanted to see if it’s still easy to be around Zhenya_, rings much truer.

And it is. It is so easy to be around Zhenya. Sid thinks that even without Sasha and Ilyusha as their buffer—and he’s known that that’s what they’ve been all along—it would be easy.

A waitress walks by and Sid orders another drink. He settles back into the couch, keeps on watching Zhenya on the dance floor, and thinks about what he’s going to do about this unexpected newfound knowledge.

* * *

They were all supposed to meet for lunch the next day, but when Sid shows up at the restaurant, it’s only Zhenya waiting at the table.

“Are Sasha and Yusha late?” Sid asks as he sits down.

“No,” Zhenya says—grumbles, really. “Sasha’s hungover, and Yusha’s still with his hookup.”

“Sounds like a good hookup,” Sid says, grinning. “I think he can be forgiven for standing us up.”

Zhenya makes another disagreeing noise but doesn’t argue any further.

“What about you?” Sid asks. He considers looking at the menu, but he knows what he wants, so there’s really no point. “Aren’t you sore from all the dancing?”

“Not really,” Zhenya shrugs. “Maybe a little tired still.”

Sid chuckles. “I bet.”

Zhenya smiles. “You didn’t dance at all. What? Sidney Crosby not good at dancing?”

“I’m not terrible,” Sid allows. “But it’s not really my thing. I had an interesting conversation with Sasha instead.”

“Oh?” Zhenya says.

Sid hums, but the waiter arrives before Sid can say more. They order, and Zhenya takes an additional minute to explain something to the waiter. Sid assumes it’s a specification on Zhenya’s food preferences, or maybe they’re making small talk. Sid has absolutely no clue. The only words in Russian that he knows are yes, no, and a bunch of insults that have been thrown his way on the ice often enough that he finally caught on to what they were, or asked Gonch to translate.

Finally the waiter leaves, and Sid leans forward, putting his forearms on the table.

“Sasha told me that you and him aren’t getting married this summer,” Sid says, watching Zhenya’s face. “Why didn’t _you_ tell me that?”

A faint touch of pink appears high on Zhenya’s cheeks. “Thought you already knew,” he says, trying to make it sound more casual by shrugging his shoulders.

“I didn’t,” Sid says. “Sasha also said you’re still interested in me.”

Zhenya looks up from his water glass, directly at Sid. “I am.”

Sid doesn’t get why Zhenya didn’t just tell him that he’s no longer engaged. If Sid had to guess—and he’s been thinking about this since last night, so he’s had a lot of guesses—it could be that Zhenya was rightfully worried, that Sid would think he did it for him, and that it would freak Sid out.

He would’ve been right, too. Sid would’ve freaked out last night if it weren’t for Sasha’s reassurances.

The other plausible option is that Zhenya didn’t want to overstep more boundaries or look like he’s pushing himself on Sid. Sid’s a little charmed by that possibility, and a lot endeared. Zhenya took it to heart that he crossed a line before, and put Sid in an uncomfortable situation.

“You know what you like,” Sid echoes a long-ago conversation. “And so do I.” He gives Zhenya a look that he hopes conveys how much Sid still wants Zhenya, too.

Zhenya licks his lips. “I know what I like,” Zhenya agrees. “I like you a lot, Sid, but I don’t want what we had before.”

“What do you want then?” Sid asks, because he thinks he might know what it is, based on what Sasha explained about Zhenya last night, but Sid’s done guessing.

“I want to date you. Get to know you. Be in relationship with you,” Zhenya says, and fuck, Sid really likes the confidence with which he says it. Zhenya’s not timid or scared. He’s showing the same confidence that attracted Sid to him in the first place. He’s made up his mind about what he wants and deserves, and he’s going for it with determination. Sid can absolutely relate to that. He admires it.

“Let’s start with a date,” Sid says. “My schedule’s pretty open right now.” He smiles at Zhenya and watches as Zhenya’s face breaks into an equally big grin.

“Yes,” Zhenya says. “We start first date right now.”

Zhenya laces his fingers with Sid’s, and leans over to peck Sid on the mouth. It’s just a short, dry press of lips, but Sid can feel the tingling of it in his fingertips.

There are all kinds of things they need to talk about if this turns into something serious, but that’s a little ways off in the future. For now, they can just go on dates, get to know each other in different ways, and see what happens. 

**Author's Note:**

> The POV character will believe that their love interest made them complicit in their infidelity. That is not true, although the love interest did not disclose their relationship status to the POV character before they have sex. The love interest and their "SO" have an arranged relationship of convenience, not love. Both the love interest and their "SO" have been free to sleep with other people the entire time.


End file.
